The Marriage of Two Lovers
by Rosamundius Malloy
Summary: The wedding of two lovers. Their story of hate to love. Featuring: the bride, the groom, the family, the friends, the minister, the rest of the guest, and that one bloke sitting in the far left corner, getting piss drunk...Ahhhh, the free alcohol...


_**Disclaimer: I own nothing...J.K. Rowling owns much more than I do...**_

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><p><em>Today was the day—it was the day she was going to get married to the love of her life. There was no turning back…<em>

She glided down the aisle. Her white gown flowed behind her, while in her hands she clasped a bouquet of roses. She radiated with happiness, though one could tell how nervous she truly was. Her eyes were shining, and on her face, there was a small smile. She tried to stand straight and tall, the was her mother told her too—and continued making her way to her soon-to-be-husband.

Somewhere along the way, she looked up to his face. Their eyes locked for a moment. Grey-blue met blue, and a connection was formed. Those grey-blue eyes were the eyes of the man she loved—the eyes that were a constant presence in her mind and dreams—those eyes and his messy, blonde hair that somehow managed to casually fall over his eyes. She saw him smile at her—not the smirk he sometimes wore—but a genuine smile. Even after knowing him for all these years, she could still feel her heart flutter and the butterflies in her stomach.

Though he never wanted to admit it, he was very nervous. It was not an anxious type of nervousness. Instead, on could describe it as a rather pleasant feeling—more like excitement than dread. He was finally going to do it. He was going to marry the love of his life, the woman of his dreams.

She looked beautiful—oh, "beautiful" could not even describe it. She looked stunning, gorgeous—positively radiant! Words were beginning to fail him. In his eyes, he had always seen her as the loveliest girl he had ever met, and believe me, had had met a fair number of eye-catching young ladies. Today, she looked exceptionally beautiful. Her auburn hair framed her face like a halo. Her veil was draped elegantly over her head. Her dress was something—it made her look like—well, any words he used would not even do her justice.

He saw her look at him, with those clear blue eyes of hers. He knew that she must be as nervous as he was, so he smiled at her reassuringly; she smiled back. He felt like an excited child on Christmas morning than anything else. Yes, that was a decent description.

She remembered how they had met. It was on their first train ride on the Hogwarts Express. It was there that they had established a not-so-friendly relationship. (In other words, it was an inch away from sheer loathing.) However, they rest of her family seemed to get along quite well with the boy; she was always convinced that he had put a Confundus charm on all her cousins.

Flash forward five years, and they were sixth years. They were both in Ravenclaw, and the common room often woke up to their somewhat "legendary" squabbles over some unimportant topic. She was at the top of the class; he was not far behind. It was the year that they finally confessed their feelings for each other. _He_ was dating one of her numerous cousins, Dominique, and _she _was getting destroyed by jealousy. Every time two so-called "love-birds" strolled by, she would inwardly seethe—and it did not help that Dominique was her least favorite cousin.

One day, everything changed. Dominique had run up to her, screaming at her. She was venting out her frustration of her failed (and abruptly ended) relationship with _him_.

"It's all YOUR fault!" she had screeched. "He loved you—all I was to him was a toy—something to make YOU jealous with! It's always about you, isn't it? Little Miss Perfect Prefect!"

With that, Dominique huffed and ran off, bursting into tears. It was common knowledge that the latter was quite the drama queen.

She was now left to date him—the boy she had fancied (albeit unknowingly, for the most part) the moment she had laid eyes on him. And date him she did. The two spent a "blissful" eight months and seven days together until they broke up. It was over something incredibly stupid—neither could remember what it actually was. They were both in terrible moods at the time, and they had parted in a fit of rage.

Flash forward another five years, and they were now twenty-one, out of school, and off on their own to venture the world. She had broken up with her boyfriend of three years, and he had stumbled through one failed relationship after another. They were reacquainted in a Muggle pub somewhere in France. (Oh, how coincidental and cliché.)

They spoke cordially to each other—each pretending as though there was no romantic history between them. It was only when they each had one drink to many that they began acknowledging their problems. He had ended up walking her back to her flat, and had kissed her on the cheek. A month later, the two were dating once again. Then he had proposed. As they say, the rest is history.

She finally arrived at the altar. To him, she looked even more beautiful up close. The two said their vows, solidifying the love they held for each other and their eternal friendship. He lifted the veil off her face and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

Many of the guests clapped. James and Fred whooped and cheered in an obnoxiously loud manner, but were finally silenced by their mothers when James began wolf-whistling. But there was one guest in the far left corner that did not share the same sentiments as the others. He expressed not an ounce of enthusiasm. His closed and expression oozed only depression and overall grief.

The reception was quite a sight. Everybody was under a huge tent raised into place by the very noble and respected Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. There were bright orbs of light stationed at each corner of the tent. Glowing candles floated overhead, illuminating the ceiling that was designed to mirror the night's sky, just like the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

The newly-weds were dancing in the middle of the floor. They seemed to bask in the light, the light produced by the loved they possessed for each other.

The groom twirled his now-wife in a circle, and the latter laughed happily. The two were enveloped in the music and their newfound happiness. They were far too joyful and in love to notice Scorpius Malfoy, sulking in the corner, downing bottle after bottle of the strongest Firewhiskey he could find. He was throwing away bottle after bottle just as easily as Rose had thrown away their three-year relationship, claiming that she did not love him. She had apologized profusely for unintentionally "leading him on," as she put it. Apparently, she genuinely thought that she loved him, but she realized too late that she just did not. He understood now. Rose freaking Weasley was still head-over-heels in love with the bastard that broke her heart all those years ago—that Lysander Scammander.

Nobody noticed Albus Potter's furtive glances to Scorpius Malfoy either. His best mate was wasting away in the corner of the reception, and Albus could not hide the concern he felt. The latter made his way to his friend, but was topped when he ran into the newly-weds and felt obligated to be one of their many well-wishers. After all, Rose was his cousin.

Albus was truly worried. Rose was the only girlfriend that Scorpius had for longer than three months. In fact, they had lasted three years! He hurried over to where he last saw his old friend. He craned his neck around the large crowd of people, trying to spy platinum-blonde hair. When he finally reached that corner, it was too late. Scorpius Malfoy, a completely _piss drunk _Scorpius Malfoy, had run off.

Scorpius stumbled out of the tent. He bumped in with a number of people and gave each a very slurred apology, but luckily never managed to find Rose and Lysander. He made his way out of the garden, and tripped as he reached the side walk. He could feel the wind created by a car speeding by, but being as intoxicated as he was, he did not have enough sense to fear for his safety. He stepped onto the paved road, losing his balance slightly, but quickly regaining it.

He was almost to the other side of the road, just a few feet, or yards, he could not really tell which. He failed to notice the sound of tired rolling towards him, and even paused there, standing right in the middle of the street. He finally turned his head, and saw a pair of bright headlights. After that, everything went dark. It was the same darkness that would envelope the rest of his life, the same darkness that would loom over his head for as long as he lived.

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><p><strong><em>Author's Note (please read): First off, I would like to say that I wrote this in retaliation to all those heartbroken Rose Scorose stories out there, the ones where Scorpius runs off with Dominique or Lily and Rose just cries her heart out. In this one, SCORPIUS is the heartbroken one, not Rose. I was just tired of reading those, that's all. It looks like Scorpius and Rose are going to get together, but in the end, Scorpius just runs of with Lily or something. Quite depressing, actually.<em>**

**_Secondly, I do not ship Rose/Lysander. As previously stated, this was written in retaliation. I am actually a HUGE Scorpius/Rose shipper, if you did not yet notice from my profile page and all of my favourites. (wow, I spelled "favourite" like a British person, I believe. I'm not British, so forgive me if I write in an American writing style of sorts.)_**

**_Well...any reviews are greatly appreciated!_**

**_I hope you enjoyed reading the story if you even bothered getting this far!_**

**_-Delia  
><em>**


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